Lindsey Rogers-Seitz holds a charm in her hand that reads "son." The other half of the heart which reads "mother," she buried with her son Benjamin who died July 7 after his father left him in the car. Rogers-Seitz requested that her face not be photographed. less

Lindsey Rogers-Seitz holds a charm in her hand that reads "son." The other half of the heart which reads "mother," she buried with her son Benjamin who died July 7 after his father left him in the car. ... more

Lindsey Rogers-Seitz holds a copy of the eulogy that she wrote for her son Benjamin's funeral. At the top is a note to herself: Slow - Breathe - Be strong. Rogers-Seitz who talked about the death of her son who died July 7 after his father left him in the car, requested that her face not be photographed. less

Lindsey Rogers-Seitz holds a copy of the eulogy that she wrote for her son Benjamin's funeral. At the top is a note to herself: Slow - Breathe - Be strong. Rogers-Seitz who talked about the death of her son ... more

The day care center where her 15-month-old son Benjamin was enrolled had called to check on his well-being. Her husband, Kyle Seitz, who was responsible for dropping off the baby at day care every morning, hadn't picked up his phone all afternoon.

After Rogers-Seitz had gone through the list of scenarios, she was approached by a hospital worker, whose expression told her what she had been dreading for hours.

"His face was red from crying and that's when I knew," Rogers-Seitz said. "There's nothing that would bring a grown man to tears other than the fact Ben was dead. He walked me past the rooms where all the people living were. And I realized that if Ben was still alive, they would have taken me to one of those rooms."

But while her son's death was certain, this case has plenty of unanswered questions, including whether her husband will be charged with a crime. Officials did not offer any indication Tuesday of if -- or when -- that may happen.

The investigation, which is more than three weeks old, is still open. Likewise, a report from the state Office of the Chief Medical Examiner remains pending. More than three dozen children die of hyperthermia in cars annually in the United States, and since 1998 more than 600 children have died in hot cars.

Criminal charges were filed in about half the cases of child vehicular heat-stroke deaths from 2004 to 2013, according to KidsAndCars.org, a nonprofit group that tracks child deaths and injuries in and around automobiles. The group said charges were filed in 177 cases, while in 160 cases no charges were filed and in 34 cases it was unclear.

On Tuesday, Rogers-Seitz sat with Hearst Connecticut Media and defended her husband's actions the day Seitz left Benjamin in the car while he was at work and the temperatures reached nearly 90 degrees in Ridgefield. It was not until after leaving work did Seitz realize his son had been in the car all along.

"Even the moment I found out, there was never a moment I questioned him or my love for him," said Rogers-Seitz, 35, who didn't want her face photographed for this story. "It was just how do we deal with this new reality?"

In the hospital, she was asked if she wanted to see Benjamin. She couldn't, she said, not in that state.

Rogers-Seitz wanted the last memories of her son to be those spent laughing and playing at the park, or the lake, or the beach. She said Benjamin was enthralled with trees and flowers and was just learning to pronounce those words. Some of the best memories were of him rolling around in the dirt, "doing boy stuff."

"The joke was he was too pretty to be a boy," Rogers-Seitz said. "When I looked in his eyes I could see heaven. I could see my soul. He was pure and tender."

Rogers-Seitz described her husband -- to whom she has been married for 12 years -- as a "great dad," one who was a stay-at-home father for four years while she previously worked as an attorney in New York City. Many Ridgefield residents have called for Seitz to be charged with a crime. Others have not.

It has been, as one would imagine, an extraordinarily painful process for the family. For the first week after Benjamin's death, Seitz was unable to move from his bed, she said. The family has seen trauma therapists and Benjamin's room remains closed.

But Rogers-Seitz said the biggest source of inspiration for her family has been their two daughters, both under the age of 10. For Seitz, the oldest -- described as a "daddy's girl" -- has served as his rock.

The younger of the two, whom Rogers-Seitz described as her "sidekick," has been her anchor. Rogers-Seitz recalled the second night after Benjamin's death when she lay in bed, crying and her youngest daughter approached her.

"She said, `Mommy, I just want to take care of you. Don't cry. I'm going to take care of you forever,'" Rogers-Seitz recalled.

The healing has been incremental for her. She takes her daughters for early morning runs and the family attended Ridgefield's Summerfest two weeks ago. Rogers-Seitz tries to focus on logistics and having family time, but pockets of sadness, like pictures of Benjamin, remind her of the inescapable loss.

Rogers-Seitz came to tears when she thought of the days leading up to what she continuously referred to as "it."

"He said, `Mommy' for the first time the Saturday before it happened," she said.

One tangible piece of Benjamin remains. Around Rogers-Seitz's neck is a locket inscribed with "Son" with an aquamarine birthstone, Benjamin's birthstone. The other matching half, inscribed with "Mom," was placed on Benjamin before his private burial July 12.

A deeply religious family, they have spent a considerable amount of time at Jesse Lee Memorial Church, where they are members. The church was where Rogers-Seitz told her daughters that Benjamin wouldn't be coming back. The church's pastor, who came to the hospital the night of Benjamin's death, encouraged Rogers-Seitz to deliver a eulogy during Benjamin's life celebration service July 13.

On Tuesday, she pulled out a copy of the eulogy, which is marked at the top with a note that reads: "Slow. Breathe. And be strong." Rogers-Seitz said she tends to speak quickly when she is nervous, so this was her reminder in front of the 150 or so people who attended the service.

"This is our home. I refuse to leave Ridgefield," she said. "We are Ridgefield. When we saw everyone at the service, that was reaffirmed."

She woke up the morning of Benjamin's death like any other Monday. She kissed him on the cheek and he pushed her away playfully, as he always did.

Later, Rogers-Seitz texted her husband about dinner, like usual. But minutes then hours passed with no answer, which was unlike Seitz. She became concerned, so she drove to the Ridgefield Police Department to make sure everything was OK.

"I said, `I'm Lindsey Seitz. Is there something going on with my family?'" she recalled. "The next thing you know, I'm at Danbury Hospital."

Since that time, Rogers-Seitz has kept her silence to maintain a point of privacy during the mourning period, but she chose to speak Tuesday because Thursday is National Heat Stroke Prevention Day.

"We always think it could never happen to us. In reality, you never know the day you're going to wake up and lose your child," she said. "I'm just so thankful for the moments I did have."